Someone Missed
by JudgeTenderlyofMe
Summary: Molly remembers Sherlock after The Fall. Tears, laughs, and surprises. For now it's a one shot, but could go on. Read and Review and let me know what you think. Follow if you want more. Sherlolly! :) - This is now continued, so there's more to read than just the first chapter. Review and let me know what you think!
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock Fanfic, September 12, 2013 Chapter 1

"You're wrong you know. You _do _count. You've always counted, and I've always trusted you. But you were right, I'm not okay."

"What do you need?"

"You…"

Molly played the words over, and over, and over again in her mind. They haunted her. Sherlock was like that. It was the way that he talked, and the way he could tell a person exactly who they were and everything they had done mere seconds after meeting them. It haunted a person.

His cold manners made him present the information in a way that made him seem judgmental, but at the same time he was simply stating facts, and people couldn't handle that or let themselves believe it. People hated him, despised him. They hated that he knew about them before they had the chance to speak. They were envious of his intelligence and at the same time, they were in awe of it.

She remembered meeting him for the first time, the way he had strode into the morgue with his longs legs and began pulling bodies out and placing them on the tables. All the while she sat in the corner watching him, knowing that she needed to stop him, to find out who he was and why he was here, but she was frozen to her seat.

"Stop that." His deep voice had shocked her and her breath caught in her throat. She hadn't expected that from him.

"S-stop what?" she stuttered. Her curious mind wanted to know. Her nervous body, however, with shivers moving in waves throughout her body had almost barricaded the words from leaving her mouth. _What's wrong with me, why can't I speak correctly?_ She had thought.

"Thinking. It's annoying, Miss…Hooper." He had smiled but she could tell it wasn't genuine. He went about his business, which she was still unsure of. She stood slowly to approach him, her legs didn't want to work either and her knees had suddenly become weak.

"No, don't do that either." He said almost sounding annoyed, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice as he unzipped the bag of an elderly mad.

"Do, do what? I h-have to at least see what you are doing and a-ask who you are."

"An experiment, and the name is Sherlock Holmes. I have permission." He stated.

"Th-That one there died of a heart attack, and this one," she said as she unzipped the bag to reveal the face of a middle aged woman, "died after being in a diabetic coma, quite, quite sad actually." She said unsure of herself, or rather of the man standing only a few feet from her.

Molly looked at him to gage his reaction, but he didn't have one. "Her sister is someone I knew from primary school. F-Funnily enough their dad died of the same thing way back. Guess they didn't get the warning." She tried to joke.

"Miss Hooper?" Sherlock asked while inspecting the man's neck with his small magnifying glass.

"Yes?" she squeaked.

"Don't try to make jokes, you're horrible at it," He took a quick glance at her. "as you've always been." He began examining the man's fingers, looking closely. He took out a pair of tweezers and a zip lock bag.

She huffed. She was so nervous. She couldn't seem to control her tongue, and how did he know she had always been bad at jokes?

"Oh no, I didn't… I wasn't… What I mean to say is…"

"Stop Miss Hooper. I've got what I came here for." He began to walk out of the room. "I'll be back here tomorrow." He said as he pulled his phone out of his pocket after throwing away the gloves he used.

"What for?" she asked, slightly sad to see him go, but also curious to see why he wanted to come back so soon.

"That woman's tongue, it'll do for an experiment I'm working on." He said.

"What?" she squeaked again.

"I'll be using your lab." He stepped out of the room.

"Well I never!" she whispered under her breath while she began to close the bags.

"By the way," she heard the baritone say while he stuck his head in the door, "he killed her." He nodded to each body.

She looked in between each body shocked to think of it.

"Why?" she asked.

"He didn't want her running around with his married son." He stated with an obviously bored voice.

"Well that's a bit extreme. Why did he kill her for it? How do you even know that?"

"Well, once you do the autopsy you'll find that she was pregnant. He found out about it and replaced her substitute sugar with real sugar. Unfortunately she used quite a bit of it. She hadn't realized how much she was eating until it was too late. He had only wanted to try and make her lose the baby. However he killed her instead hence the heart attack when he found out."

"How do you know this? Are you with the police?"

"Consulting detective. I can tell by the chewed up fingernails on his right hand, he either had a bad habit, doubtful because his left is untouched, or he was recently nervous, more likely. Her purse is full of sweet and low packets, but her sugar jar is full of real sugar. Obvious." He stated, while texting.

"Is that it then?" she asked, dumbfounded. She could see the finger nails and she knew of the woman's diabetes and had heard from her sister the extent to which she was careful. It had to be true.

"Yes." Sherlock stated. "Don't forget the tongue." Then he left for good.

She put the bodies back and walked over to the massive pile of paperwork she had left before he came in.

_He's an odd sort of fellow._ She thought. _But he's brilliant._ She sat down and cupped her chin in her hand. _I wonder what time he'll be here tomorrow?_

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She didn't recognize the number that had just texted her.

**2pm –SH **

* * *

Molly looked down at the man that now lay on her autopsy table. She had locked the doors to the morgue and turned the lights low. She didn't want anyone to see him like this. She removed his scarf and his coat, and began to wash the blood off the side of his head. She trailed the washcloth along his temple, and down his high cheek bone, along down his cheek and down to his neck.

Tears began to fall down her cheeks trailing the same paths as the pink water she was using to clean his wounds did on him. Things would be so different now. Nothing would ever be the same. Why had she always been so mousy around him? He had never been able to see her for who she really was? She was strong and caring and funny.

She wasn't always so shy; in fact she was only really shy with Sherlock. Of course she loved him, and had made several attempts to peek his attention towards her. She remembered thinking, _This might finally get his attention, _as she dressed for the Christmas party, but of course it hadn't. She remembered the touch of his lips on her cheek. She could feel the warmth there every time she thought of it as if they were still there. That was the closest they had been to intimate until now.

She trailed her fingers down his cheek and lingered there for a moment. All the blood was gone now. Some of it was still in his hair, but that could be washed later. She walked over to the table and sat down on the stool. She sighed, and let the tears fall down her face. She wiped them away with her sleeve, but as soon as she collected one another would take its place.

_Why, Sherlock? Nothing is ever going to be the same now. _She looked at him. His eyes were closed and she could not see the green blue that they were. She loved to see the way his eyes lit up whenever he would become excited about a case. It wasn't exactly proper to get excited about a murder, but Sherlock was different. That was evident, and since he solved the cases, no one really cared. Lestrade needed him, and he had John to keep him in line. Mrs. Hudson was basically his mom watching over him making sure her boys were okay. Mycroft, no matter how much Sherlock hated to admit it, just wanted what was best for his baby brother. What was she?

She was his pathologist. She never admitted it, but everyone knew it. He only came to the morgue when she was on duty. He would only trust her opinion because he knew she was more intelligent than anyone else in the department, perhaps even at St. Bart's. He had _always _trusted her. Yet, she was just his pathologist; Just his pathologist.

"Stop that." He whispered in his deep baritone. He winced at the effort it took.

"What?" she asked through her tears.

"Thinking. It's annoying, especially with the headache I've got."

"Oh shut up." She said.

He opened one eye to look at her in the low lighting. _At least she had thought to keep it low. _He thought. He had forgotten to mention it while they had planned what to do after he jumped from the top of St. Bartholomew's.

"What?" he asked her. He hadn't expected that from her. He had never heard a cross word from her in the entire time he had known her.

"I'm doing this for you. I'll bloody well think how much I want." She said to him. Her voice low in case anyone could hear them outside. She felt like yelling, screaming at him. She was risking her life and here he was being the same old Sherlock, self absorbed.

"Fine just don't so it so loudly." He said. She rolled her eyes.

She wanted to slap him, but she knew that wouldn't be a good idea considering what he had just been through, she didn't want to make his injury worse. He was speaking, so that was a good sign.

"Sherlock…" she started.

"Come here." He said to her. She did what he asked, but very slowly. She almost didn't want to.

"Why?" she asked, her voice still shaking from the effort it took to speak through her tears.

"You'll see." He said. She made her way over to him. She stood close by.

"What?" she whispered. He took her hand into both of his and began to trace circles with his thumb. She was surprised by this movement, but she quickly realized that she liked the feeling. It was calming.

"Thank you, Molly Hooper." He whispered. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her hand, but did not give her hand back. He brought their hands down to his chest and just let them rest there, putting his left back down by his side. He continued tracing the circles, content with her being so near.

"No need to thank me." The words barely made their way off her lips.

"Yes there is." He stated, and she did not argue. "There's always been, and I just never realized it until now." He kissed her hand again, repeated the same motion as before. He closed his eyes and sighed.

She smiled to herself, and slowly bent down to kiss his cheek. She could feel him smile, a rare genuine smile that reached his eyes.

"I always miss something." He said. He reached over with his left hand began to run his fingers through her hair. He brought their hands up to her face never letting go of her hand. He stroked her cheek wiping away the tears. He ran his thumb over her lips, and heard her small gasp. He reached behind her head and gently brought her lips to meet his.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello everybody! I decided to write more since I've got 7 followers. I just wanted to say thank you to those who followed, and those who favorited. For those who favorited me as an author, well, I'm flattered. :)**

**Fair warning, I don't usually update this fast. So don't expect updates every couple of days, sometimes even weeks. I find it difficult to find time to sit down and be able to write, what with being in high school and dealing with applications to college, etc. Anywho, this is a fair warning, but please do tell me if I'm taking too long to update, because sometimes that's the kick that I need to sit down and write. :)**

**Well, I don't own any of these characters, but if someone wants to gift me with the rights to them I wouldn't complain, plus it's a gift. Who doesn't love gifts?**

**Please review, I do love reviews and it helps me to understand your guy's thoughts. I don't mind constructive criticism, it's quite helpful, but please if you hate it, just be kind. :)**

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Chapter 2

"Molly." Her name rolled off of his lips so easily, as if it was the most natural sound for him to make.

"Molly." He moaned. Her first name was now quite easy for him to use. He preferred Dr. Hooper, or at least he did, but he started to use her first name more regularly and now he couldn't think to call her anything else.

"Molly!" he yelled as loudly as he dared, and as loudly as he could handle. His head hurt like no pain he had ever felt before.

"Sherlock!" she yelled back at him. "Stop whining! We're almost to the top, and then you can lay down. Just a few more steps." She harrumphed, trying to hold up his tall frame. He was still very weak, and she was not that strong, or at least not when she was trying to keep him upright and climb the steps to her apartment (or flat if you like) at the same time.

The plan had been to bring him to her apartment/flat that night after everything had quieted down and all the reporters had gone home. However simple that may have sounded, actually carrying it out was another matter. Sherlock really had been hurt in the fall, and it would take time for him to heal. He also needed an unsuspecting place to lay low while everyone mourned him, leaving him free to go about his business and try to take down Moriarty's system single handedly.

Molly was a convenient person to have. She would do anything for him, and yet no one would suspect that it was her who would be the one to help him fake his death. She was so awkward that it's possible people would think she was just rambling if she were to ever accidentally let it slip what she was hiding. At the same time, she was more intelligent than people gave her credit for. She did have a PhD after all. She also didn't speak to that many people, as was the nature of her job. If she did talk to her "patients", well then let's just say people would be glad that she worked down in the morgue anyway.

She hadn't expected him to be so much dead weight. His arm draped over and around her shoulders as he leaned on her. His other arm dangled by his side half the time, and the other half searched for anything to hold on to, a railing, the wall, etc. His head hung low, and he grimaced in pain every time Molly moved underneath him taking him up the stairs one by one.

She fumbled for her keys, hoping they hadn't awoken any of her neighbors. There were three other people in the building, with two on each floor. Hers of course was on the second floor and the farthest door back on the left. Her landlady was quite forgiving and allowed her tenants to decorate as they pleased, so the hallway had scenic pictures, and in front of each door was a floor mat saying "Welcome". Molly's door was painted a calming light blue with a cherry shaped basket hanging in front from where a seasonal wreath might normally hang. In it there were fake roses, in an attempt to make it look like there were fresh blooms year round.

"Pity those aren't real." Sherlock slurred, his pain killers obviously kicking in. He hadn't wanted to take any, but she made him, knowing full well that if she hadn't he would have made such a fuss that she would have strongly considered announcing to the world that he was in fact, not dead.

"Here we are." She said placing her keys in a bowl that sat on the table in the foyer. "Home sweet home." She moved in front of him, placing one hand on his chest for him to lean into as she placed her bags underneath that same table. She led him over to the sofa, and gently helped him lower himself onto it. She kept him from completely sinking into the couch while she placed pillows behind him to keep him propped up. His feet were elevated slightly because he was just a little longer than the sofa, not surprising considering how much shorter she is than him.

He grunted in pain as all this happened. He knew it had to be done, but he would much prefer his bed to this, but that wasn't possible and he knew it. The moonlight poured in through the window, and it just so happened that the beam ran across the room falling directly onto Molly as she busied herself with putting her coat away. Sherlock watched her as she did this, and for the first time truly thought it out just how much he was asking her to do. He had inconvenienced her many times before. That was a normal aspect to their lives, but this was far beyond anything that someone should do for a…colleague?

She walked over to him, slightly tripping over the rug that sat beneath the coffee table to the side of the sofa. He could see the blush on her cheeks, even in the dark room. She walked over slowly, tentatively, and brushed her fingers along his cheek once more. She then began to remove his scarf, slowly as not to make him lift his head too much, she knew how sore he must be. She had thankfully thought to get his coat before taking him to the couch, because with him laying down that would have been tricky to take off, at least while she was trying to be careful not to move him too much.

She realized how silly it was that she still felt shy and nervous around him. They had now shared two kisses, one earlier that night, and the other was right after he had asked for her help with faking his death. She still wasn't sure if he was manipulating her like he always used to, or if he was sincere in his actions and words. She knew he had meant what he said about him needing her, but the extent to which he needed her was still in question. Now wasn't the time to think about it. She had given her word, and even if he felt that he needed to manipulate her to get what he wanted, it was too late to go against her promise. She was not that type of person. That was not Molly Hooper.

"I'll just put this over by the door with your coat. Would you like anything?" She spoke softly.

"I-ahem, I…never mind."

"What do you need?" she asked.

Those words! She didn't know how much they meant to him. No one had ever asked him if he needed anything in that way. He had never asked for anything really, he just demanded it most of the time. But something was different with her. He realized how much he had asked of her by making her keep his secret and help him, that now, it seemed silly, but he felt like he was intruding too much to even simply ask for a cup of tea.

"Well I, if it's not too much trouble, I'd like some tea… if it's not too much trouble." He stated the trouble part twice, and he hadn't realized it.

"Since, since when have you ever considered if it was too much… trouble for someone to do something for you?" she asked, suspicious, her eyebrow raised.

"Cream tea please." He said trying to sound more like himself.

"Sherlock. Don't…don't do that. It's j-just a cream tea. It's not like you've asked to move in or anything!" She said joking, but slightly annoyed with him.

"Molly, please, I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry. I'm just very tired, and I'm not really sure how to go about saying this." He said, looking away from her.

She walked over to a lamp, and turned it on. She wanted to see his face; it was much too dark in the room. The soft light lit up the room, but only just, which was a good thing considering his headache.

"Say what exactly?" she asked, curious, and slightly hopeful.

"Molly…"

"Yes Sherlock?"

"It's suddenly come to my attention just how much I'll be inconveniencing you by asking you to do this for me." He said still looking away from her. If she couldn't tell any better, she'd almost think that he was embarrassed.

"Sherlock…" she started.

"So if you'll believe it, it suddenly seems that even asking for a cream tea would be putting you out of your way, which with how much I am already doing that, seems a stupid thing for me to think." He said very rapidly, as if the words were too hot for his tongue to hold onto.

"Sherlock…" she started again.

"In the end you'll still get me the cream tea, and you'll think me silly for thinking that a simple cup of tea would be an inconvenience for you. You get me coffee all the time at the lab, but now that I am in your home, I feel like an intruder. I feel like I am asking for too much from you, which wouldn't normally concern me anyway, but I have come to the realization, quite recently in fact, that I seem to care what you think. This is new for me, and I am not sure how to take this new information. Should I find a room for it in my mind palace or delete it? But I also have the feeling that if I did delete it then that wouldn't be very agreeable to you. And oh my God these pain killers are wonderful!" he almost shouted.

"Sherlock!" she almost shouted as well.

"What?" he asked innocently looking out from underneath his hand that he now had covering his eyes.

"You're right, I'll still get you the cream tea. As for the… rest, well we-we can talk about this more tomorrow, yeah?" she asked.

"I suppose. That would probably be a good idea." He said, somewhat smiling at her. She wasn't sure if it was the pain killers that had him talking this way, or if it was just Sherlock who happened to be on painkillers at the moment. She busied herself in the kitchen while she thought all this over.

He turned to lay on his side on the couch, closing his eyes. He thought about how he kept mentioning the inconvenience thing to her. It was a constant in the engine that was his mind. It wasn't running as fast as it normally would but that was still twice as fast as any normal person's. The pain killers made it difficult for him to keep his inner thoughts to himself as he spoke. He would have to try and be more careful. He wasn't exactly sure what he felt for Molly. It was definitely more than one might feel for a colleague, and obviously more than friendship, or else he wouldn't have kissed her.

It was absurd that he cared if he was being an inconvenience for someone else. It had never bothered him before, but as he had just said to Molly, for some reason her feelings were something he cared more about. It suddenly mattered to him if she was happy, or if he was in her way. He almost felt guilty about all of this. Almost.

"Here's your tea." Molly said handing it to him, but waiting for him to roll over and sit himself up. She looked at him sympathetically, he kept grimacing in pain. Who wouldn't after falling off of a building and living to tell the tale? His whole body hurt, not just his head although that was where it was most acute. The bandages there covered most of his head, but random locks of hair still made their way out of the white cloth.

She sat down next to him on the couch and helped him drink it. They kept looking into each other's eyes, but would quickly look away and blush if it went on for too long. Sherlock realized that he rather liked her taking care of him in this way, but he would never admit it. When he was finished he handed her the cup.

"Thank you." He said, smiling faintly.

"You're welcome." She said softly. She leaned in and kissed him on his cheek. "Good night Sherlock." She rose from her seat and took the cups back to the kitchen, placing them in the sink. They clinked together as she set them down.

He could hear her footsteps as she moved out of the room, and started walking to the left towards her bedroom door.

"If you need anything, I'll be in my room, so just give a shout. I'll leave the door open."

He nodded his understanding and slowly began to sink into the couch, trying to find comfort so that he could sleep.

"Goodnight, Molly."

She smiled at him, and after a pause, walked towards her bedroom.

He smiled as he listened to her walk away. He slowly realized that he found comfort in being here at her home. He hugged a pillow towards him. It smelled like her. He realized that he liked it more than he cared to admit.

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**Thanks for reading! Please leave a little review, and I'm thinking I'll write more. What did you think of Sherlock's POV? I wasn't sure how to go about it, but I also didn't want to leave his thoughts unsaid. If it was confusing, let me know. If not, what did you think overall?**

**Funfact: my username is a reference to an Emily Dickinson poem. :) Just so you know.**


	3. Chapter 3

Someone Missed

Chapter 3

**Hello everyone! I decided to try and write another chapter, even though I had no clue what I wanted it to be. I don't really have a plan for this story, but someone gave me the idea to just play it out, and see how their relationship develops. What do you guys think?**

**Also, I'd like to apologize for my half American/half English vocabulary. If I know the British term, I'll try to use it, but if not, well you get the american version. Sorry if I switch back and forth throughout the chapter, it's a bad habit, but one that I can't help. **

**I hope you guys enjoy!**

**I don't own these characters, but boy if I did, well let's just say that there would be no worries for us Sherlolly shippers. :)**

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"Interesting…" Sherlock mumbled. He opened the cap to the shampoo bottle and smelled it. He inhaled a wonderful, lovely scent of vanilla and cinnamon. He didn't recognize the label or the brand, but he discovered that he found the scent calming. It fit Molly perfectly because, much like her, it was warm and sweet. He set it down and looked at the body wash she had sitting on the shelf in her bathroom. It too was a warm scent, but was a mixture of vanilla and cherries.

"Obvious." He smiled to himself. He recognized the scents, because for years he had smelled the same ones every time he had entered the morgue while she was there. After all, a girl who worked in a morgue cared about how she smelled more than someone else might. She didn't want to come home smelling like death and chemicals.

"Sherlock!" Molly yelled out from the living room. It startled him and he dropped the bottle he had been holding. It landed with a loud crash and echoed in the small room when it hit the tile floor. He hadn't expected her to be awake for another 2 hours. He quickly grabbed the bottle, thankful that it hadn't spilled the soap onto the floor and put it back in its place.

"Sherlock?" Molly knocked on the door. "Are you alright in there?"

"Fine." Sherlock said as he yanked open the door to reveal a slightly disheveled Molly, still in her robe and pajama set. Her eyes were puffy and her hair stuck up in places that it normally didn't, he noticed. He had to hide a smile as she yawned, looking at him with a critical eye.

"Go and lay back down right now! You shouldn't be up moving around! You need rest!" she scolded him, but he just walked past her into the living room and towards the kitchen. "What were you doing in there?" she slurred her words, still tired from the restless night's sleep she had just had knowing that Sherlock Holmes was in her apartment/flat. Not to mention how much had just changed in the past day.

First he had told her that he needed her, and then she found out why he needed her. Then he had faked his death, which she had been drafted into helping him do, the only person he trusted to help him by the way. Then she had snuck him into her apartment/flat, and he was now technically living there. And oh yeah, they had made out a couple of times now too. She wasn't really sure what this meant, and she wasn't sure that he knew either. Whatever it meant, the first priority would be to get Sherlock back in good health so that he could begin to work under cover and hopefully come out of hiding.

She also had to prepare herself for the onslaught of condolences and making sure John and Mrs. Hudson were alright, while also being sure to tie up any lose ends regarding "the body" and the paperwork to make his death official. It was a lot for one person, but thankfully, Sherlock had made it possible for her to be able to contact Mycroft if it became too much. At the moment, Mycroft believed that Sherlock was dead just like the rest of the world, but Sherlock had given Molly information that would make Mycroft believe her if she had to tell him that Sherlock wasn't dead and if he needed help. However, she had signed up for this when she agreed to help him. This was just the first, of many sleepless nights to come, she could tell.

"I needed to use the loo." He stated.

"But I heard something fall." She countered.

"I was observing." He said walking back towards the living room. It was dark in the room because it was still early in the morning. Sherlock had decided to take in his surroundings when he found that he couldn't sleep, not that he hadn't tried. His headache hadn't gone away or lessened in its severity.

"What do you mean you were observing?" she asked looking back towards the door to the loo.

"You know what I mean. I was taking in my surroundings, exploring. I was curious. Observing. Surely you would know what I mean by now." He crossed his arms, going back to being bored and looked out the window into the others across the alley.

"I do know. I just meant, why were you looking at my private belongings?" she asked, but knew it was useless to explain so she changed the subject. "I'll give you a full tour later on. Why aren't you sleeping?" she asked him.

"Couldn't. Bored." He said, his eyes glazing over.

"Did you want to?" she asked him.

"No." he lied.

She looked around for a minute, obviously not knowing what to do. She decided that since they were both up, she might as well make them some breakfast. She walked into the kitchen and retrieved some bread, and some eggs, and began to fill the kettle to make some tea.

She looked back at him and saw him now sitting in his usual position, with his hands folded like he was saying a prayer, resting them on his chin. He was entering his mind palace, but she knew that it wouldn't be for long, he was already sinking lower into the seat. She could tell he was sleepy, and she knew he had lied when he said that he hadn't wanted to sleep. She knew full well that Sherlock was tired, and even he couldn't deny that he had been hurt. He was going to be a child about it, and she was not ready to deal with a man child, forcing him to take his pills, and take his shower and change his clothes. She had heard horror stories from John and occasionally Mrs. Hudson about how bad he could be sometimes. _Just lovely, _she thought.

She toasted the bread, and made omelets with the eggs. She set up a tray and brought it into the living room, and turned on the television. Sherlock looked up at the sound and looked at molly. He watched her walk back into the kitchen to see her set up a second tray for the tea. He smiled to himself, but quickly acted like he hadn't moved when he noticed her look in his direction. Yes, he liked seeing molly like this very much, but don't tell her that. It might... complicate... things, much more than he had already done. He hadn't intended on kissing her, not the first, or the second time.

He wasn't sure why he had done it, for some reason he wasn't able to act normally around Molly. Ever since she had told him that she noticed how sad he was when he thought no one was looking, he had simply been dumbfounded by Molly Hooper. It was the first time since Irene, that anyone had ever been able to observe him. He hadn't expected it to be Molly to do so. This was different though. He already respected Molly.

With Irene Adler, he was dumbfounded because she was able to observe him, but he was unable to observe her. In the end he had won their little game, and he had been able to use her feelings for him against her. That was what he enjoyed the most. It wasn't just that she was attractive, that was evident. She was the only woman to ever deduce him, until Molly. Irene was _the_ woman to do it first, but he had suddenly realized that she was not the _only_ woman, and the second had been doing it for much longer.

With Molly, he not only respected her, but when she had been able to observe him, he felt something that he had never felt before. He came to realize that she actually cared about him. She always had. He realized that he cared too, about her. He knew he cared for John, his best friend. He cared for Mrs. Hudson, who was his substitute mother, and for Mycroft even though he hated to admit it. He secretly enjoyed the fact that Mycroft only showed sentiment for two people in his life, Sherlock, and their mummy. Molly, however, he cared about differently from everyone else. He was selfish by nature, and he realized that he cared for Molly in a way that he wasn't quite sure how to put into words. He knew that she had always felt something for him. In fact he had used it to his advantage many times before, to manipulate her, but this time was different. He wanted her for him and him alone. She was _his _pathologist. Molly was his. She was the one who cared, who truly saw him.

He would have to think this over more later, but for now he put it into an unused room in his mind palace, but before he left the room he remembered to label it, "Thoughts on Molly". He found himself running down the steps two at a time to be able to get to the front door in time to watch Molly come over and sit next to him on the couch as she watched the morning programs.

He found the chipper news anchors annoying. They couldn't be that happy at 5 in the morning. It wasn't human, and this coming from a man who chooses not to sleep and eat while working on cases that last for days, weeks sometimes. He watched as her eyes followed the headlines while she sipped away at her Earl Grey. He suddenly realized that he was hungry as well and reached out to pour himself a cuppa.

He sat back onto the couch and relaxed. He liked this. He felt content, however Molly looked uncomfortable.

"Are you alright?" he asked, thinking the words sounded odd coming from him. She would think he didn't actually care, but he found it odd that he actually did care if she was alright.

"I'm fine." She said as she placed the cup back on its saucer. "Just tired." She pushed her now clean plate away from her. Toby, who had been begging at her feet, jumped up into her lap.

"Molly, I…" Sherlock began.

"It's fine Sherlock." She said trying to change the subject.

"If I was intruding on your privacy, then please tell me. I know this is difficult for you. It's a big change and I know that it won't be easy on you. However, as I'm going to be living here for the time being, I think that I should at least familiarize myself with my surroundings." He stated.

"Do you know, Sherlock? Do you really know how much of an inconvenience this is for me?" she asked, losing her temper a bit. She was cranky from having very little sleep. She didn't mean to snap, but he had been poking around in her private things, which she felt was too soon for him to do. He'd been there for what, 6 hours now?

"Well I can imagine," he began.

"No you can't." she said.

He wasn't sure what to say. "I'm sorry." He tried.

"No you're not. However, I am." She said. "It's just, I'm really confused at the moment." She tried to apologize.

"Me too." Sherlock said. He was shocked that he had just admitted that. What was in these painkillers that she had given him? He was finding it very difficult to keep his thoughts to himself.

Just then they heard a soft knock on the door. Molly jumped up wide eyed, causing Toby to screech in protest. Sherlock looked at the door, now really confused. Who the hell could that be at this time in the morning?

"Sherlock! Take your cuppa and plate to my room! Go!" she whispered. She ran as fast as she could trying not to make much noise and grabbed his coat off the hook almost falling over as it caught on the hook . Sherlock stood up, a little quicker than he should have, and found that he had suddenly gone extremely lightheaded and everything went completely black for a few seconds. It was an unnerving feeling. When he finally could see again he reached for his plate and quickly moved towards her bedroom.

She tossed the coat into the closet and tried to close the door without a loud bang. The person at the door knocked again, a little louder this time. She could feel her heart rate rising and her breathing becoming shallow as she panicked. What if it was Lestrade? What if someone had seen them leave the hospital? She didn't need this!

She looked back to see that Sherlock was gone, and that he had done what she had asked. She didn't want whoever it was to see that she had made food and tea for two people. Slowly she made her way to the door, for once thankful at her sloppy appearance, this way she could act like she had just gotten out of bed recently.

She reached the door, and as they knocked again, even louder this time, she slowly began to turn the handle. She gasped when she saw who it was.

"Oh!"

* * *

**Who could be at the door? Honestly, I'm not sure myself just yet, but I have an idea. What do you think? Leave me a review if you have an idea! Or just leave one to tell me what you think overall. I really do love reviews, but just knowing that people are reading is enough for me. :)**

**Have a lovely day!**

**(Who else can't wait for Season/Series 3?)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello everybody! So sorry for the extremely late update, I never intended for it to take me this long, but I hope this will suffice. I still haven't decided who's behind the door, but I felt that I needed to get something up. So here it is, and I hope you all like it.**  


**To the guest who decided to leave a not so nice review/and to whoever private messaged me saying nasty mean things about my shipping Sherlolly, well I would just like to say a few things. **

**1) I happen to be a rare shipper, who actually ships all ships. I would be happy with whatever happens on Sherlock because it's not mine to write. It's Moffat and Gatiss's, along with their writers. Obviously I'm partial to Sherlolly, but that's because it was my first ship for Sherlock. However, I do ship Johnlock, Shirene, etc. I ship them all! **

**2) We're all free to ship whoever we want, and there is no need to leave/send not so nice comments/reviews/messages about those ships because I was under the impression that this fandom was quite accepting. There's a sense of civility that should be adhered to, with respect, and dignity. You don't have to ship the same ships as someone else, you don't even have to like them, but you _should_ respect them. I don't mind constructive criticism, but that was not constructive in the least. If anything it fueled my writer's block because I lost my passion for the story a little bit there.**

**3) Everyone has a right to be passionate about their ships, and until we find out what is canon, then we're all free to let our imaginations roam. These are simply stories that we choose to write to keep ourselves occupied until the new series airs. It is meant for entertainment, and no one made you read my little story. So there's no need to be nasty and attack me for allowing my imagination to roam with my favorite ship.**

**Finally, I would hope that anyone in the UK won't give spoilers for us Americans, as we won't be able to see the new series until January. I would really hate to have to take a hiatus from the internet just to avoid them. Like I said above guys, ^Common courtesy and civility^ Thank you! **

**I don't own anything! (I wish I did though). :D**

Chapter 4

He stopped when he entered the lab. She was standing in the corner, her back facing the door and she seemed lost in her own world. Her hair was up, and he could smell her gardenia scented perfume from down the hallway. _Trying to make an impression, obvious._ He took his scarf off first, then his coat, before he cleared his throat to gain her attention. He ignored the squeak that she made as she jumped in surprise.

"Do you have the tongue?" he sat down.

"Y-yes, right here. Although I still don't understand why you need it." Her hand shook as she handed him the container with the diabetic woman's tongue.

"For an experiment, as I said." He was becoming annoyed. He hoped she wasn't just another idiot.

"Yes, I know, but what _kind_ of experiment?" she had moved to stand on the other side of the counter, across from him.

"An important one."

"Oh. Why is it so important?" she almost couldn't make the words leave her mouth.

He didn't answer her, he only grunted. He busied himself with cutting the tongue into slices so that he could try different things with the different parts. He put a couple pieces into petri dishes, and another slice onto a plate to be microwaved. She realized he wasn't going to answer.

"I'm just going to pop down to the café, um, w-would you like anything?" She twirled her thumbs as she waited eagerly for his reply.

"No." he stated as he moved towards the microwave.

"Oh, okay then." She didn't understand why he acted so coldly towards her. She was being nothing but nice.

"Wait." He said as she opened the door. "Coffee, black, two sugars."

"A-alright." She said, then began to walk down the hallway.

He moved quickly towards the door to see her walk away towards the café. Once he was sure she was gone, he rushed to grab his phone that sat on the counter, and took Molly's list for the day and moved towards the morgue.

* * *

Molly hummed as she walked back towards the lab, with her plate of pasta in one hand and his coffee in the other. He was rude, but she could tell he knew what he was doing, so she was determined to make the best of it. Hopefully he would say more than two words to her before he left for the day, whenever that would be. She made her way back to the lab, she walked in and set the plate down on the counter, but when she looked up to hand him his coffee, she saw that he wasn't there. Maybe he just popped down to loo? She decided to wait for him. At least he hadn't left the microwave on or anything.

She had waited fifteen minutes since she came back from the café, and she began to wonder where he was. She decided that while she waited, she might as well eat like she had planned. The pasta was okay, but certainly not what she would have preferred for lunch. She finished, and he still hadn't returned. She was worried now, and she needed to return to her work for the day, enough of it had been wasted already. She moved around the counter, headed towards where she had left her list and paperwork for the day, but soon realized it wasn't there. He was the only other person who had been in there, but she didn't know where he was. She decided to go down the morgue to see if she had left the papers there, even though she knew she hadn't. It didn't hurt to check.

When she approached the door, she could hear crashes coming from inside, along with shouts from her coworker, Robert. She was afraid of what might be going on in there, especially since she could also hear the shouts of what sounded like Sherlock.

"Oi! What's going on in here?" she asked as she walked through the door. She gasped at the sight she saw. Sherlock was standing on one of the morgue tables holding a severed hand quite protectively, while Robert stood below him trying to reach for that very same hand.

"What the hell are you doing with that hand?" Robert shouted. "That is the property of St. Bart's mortuary! Give it to me!"

"It's for an experiment!" Sherlock shouted back.

"What the hell kind of experiment do you need a hand of a random man for?"

"You wouldn't understand!"

"Robert! Sherlock!" Molly shouted.

Both men looked at her with wide eyes, only just realizing that she was there.

"I have _permission._" Sherlock stared at Robert.

"Oh really? Well we'll just see about that, won't we?" Robert took off his gloves and stalked out of the doors, obviously going to make a phone call to check.

"Sherlock?" Molly asked; much more quiet now, more like her normal quiet, mousy self.

"Yes?" he stared at her now, still standing on the table, holding the hand up as if keeping a toy away from a jumping dog.

"W-what _are_ you doing?" she almost whispered.

He sighed. "I needed this man's hand to complete my experiment."

"Why?" she asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked as he moved off of the table, and moved towards the doors.

"Not really." She said.

"That woman was diabetic, so was this man. You would have known that if you had read his file."

"I hadn't looked at any of my files yet today."

"Exactly." Sherlock said as he made his way back to the lab.

"So you want to test this man's hand and that woman's tongue, because they were both diabetic?" she asked.

"_Yes._" He said, obviously annoyed with her at this point.

"Okay." She said, as they entered the lab.

'Okay?" he asked, surprised by her acceptance. He was more accustomed to reactions like Robert's.

"Yes. What do you need?" she asked, putting gloves on, obviously set on helping with the experiment. He stopped momentarily, watching her begin to work. It seemed that she might not be just another idiot.

"How in the hell do you have _permission?!_" Robert barged in, obviously angry that he couldn't have his way.

"Oh don't be so upset." Sherlock said with an obvious smirk on his face. "One could wonder how you were even able to earn a PhD. Those alarmingly orange socks couldn't have helped you, now could they?" He continued his work on the hand.

"Now look here, I don't care who you think you are. St. Bart's employees are the only ones who have _permission_ to go near the bodies let alone take parts of them. I don't care how high up the person who gave you the permission is in the government, no one is allowed in here except me and Molly today. You got that?" Robert spat out the words as insults.

"_Robert_." Molly said.

"What" he snapped.

"It's okay." She said, quietly, looking at Sherlock as if asking for permission. He smirked, and that was confirmation enough for her.

"No it's not." Robert said.

"Robert. I said it was okay. He has permission, from me." She said, feeling confidant, something she had yet to experience in Sherlock's presence until that point.

"But I…" he began.

"I said I had permission." Sherlock stated, with a genuine smile on his face, obviously a dismissal directed at Robert.

Robert harrumphed, and began to walk out of the lab.

"At least tell me what exactly you're doing with the hand." He said, his hand resting on the door.

"An-" Sherlock started.

"An _experiment._" Molly stated. Robert grumbled, but left, obviously annoyed by the answer and angry that it had been given by Molly.

Sherlock watched her, a genuine smile on his face, knowing that he now had an ally here at Bart's. Yes, this would be the pathologist he would go to from now on.

* * *

Sherlock sat on Molly's bed, remembering that first experiment with Molly. It seemed like such a long time since then. He really enjoyed these painkillers they made everything slow down, and for the first time in a long time it seemed that even though things moved slowly, he wasn't actually bored by it.

He could hear voices from the living room, not quite angry, but he could tell that Molly wasn't happy with whoever had knocked on the door at close to 6 in the morning. It could be because of the person themselves, the time, or the fact that he was supposed to be dead and yet here he was sitting on her bed.

No one was supposed to know that he was alive, and most especially that he was staying at Molly's apartment for the time being. Whoever it was, they didn't want to leave any time soon. He realized that he may have to stay in that room for quite some time, so he may as well make himself comfortable. He quickly fell asleep, almost as soon as he placed his head on her pillow.

He awoke to pounding on the bedroom door,

"Sherlock! Sherlock! Come out of there right now! Sherlock, you have to wake up! Now! Wake up!"

All that he understood from the shouting was one thing; that was definitely not Molly's voice.

* * *

**I hope you guys liked it. Review if you want, and hopefully there won't be any more nasty messages and rude reviews. We're all writers here, we should supporting each other, not tearing each other down. **

**Also, special shout to Amelia, who gave me the idea to write out a flashback to help with the writer's block and for her support after those messages I received. **

**Have a lovely day guys! :) (Smile, it always makes the day better and brighter.)**


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